Deliverance/Delivery

Once upon a time in a city dark and old, lived a young princess.  Now this princess was not a real princess and even if she had been, the land of urban decay where she lived was not truly conducive to fairy tales
  
Every day, the princess would look out from her tower (she lived on the 35th floor you see). She would sigh and read Rapunzel over and over and over, wishing that her hair could grow so long
She would look again out of the window and sigh again, her breasts heaving delightfully (for she was not a little girl as princesses are so often painted)

Then the not-so-little princess would count her pennies wondering how much she'd have to pay for a 200 foot weave. It didn't matter. She would never earn enough and if she wanted to go out into the sunshine she'd have to try more conventional means

At that point, every time, she'd go to her door and open it a crack, always being sure to check the chain on the lock. Usually there was an old and smelly junkie, nodding off on the stairs. That was a relief. Junkies on the nod are so much nicer than crackheads don't you find?  She'd look down the corridor to the lift. Why even try though. It hadn't worked in years and even when it had, it had stank of piss and shit and blood and semen

Each time she would open the door a crack, perhaps even step out. She would contemplate the stairs. From here she could see seven broken bottles, the aformentioned junky on the nod, eleven syringes, a turd probably a dog's, she could not count the condoms.

The princess wrinkled her nose and closed the door, locking herself into her safe little world of fairytales and television.  The princess closed her eyes and went to sleep for a hundred years, as I'm sure you've noticed, princesses are wont to do.  As she slept, she dreamed backward, counting down until at last, she woke up refreshed to early morning. 

Now this princess had a problem. She was so scared to leave the flat that she could not work, could not shop, and could not even go to collect her welfare payments. Even if she could, which pizza parlour would deliver to a weird old broad on the 37th floor of a tower block where the lifts don't work?

The princess was becoming so thin that Kate Moss phoned to tell her to get help with her anorexia. She had so little fat, that one day, when she slept on twenty mattresses, she was bruised by the pea between the seventeenth and eighteenth.  

Of course, the gods would have to take pity on this poor maiden. There was a fairy godmothers' strike at the time though. As we said, she could not afford a two hundred foot weave and although she slept 100 years every night, each time the clock rewound and she woke the next morning.  How could the gods help?  Where would they find their deus ex machina?

Of course. There is only one place today where heroes dwell. There is only one place where heroes dream of beautiful princesses in tower blocks. Only in the Postal Service could such a Man be found. Between dodging the bullets of his workmates' Kalashnikovs, a hero (and yes, he did look a little like the guy in "The Bodyguard" now that you mention it), came to the Princess's rescue.

Through rain and shine, through fog and driving sleet, the mail gets through.  
On this day, our favourite princess had a letter. Sadly it was in a brown envelope and not even slightly scented. Her name was in a window. The hero knew what the letter was but he did not know he was going to fall in love.

He climbed the thirty seven flights of stairs. If I had more time, I'd tell you of the epic battles he fought. Perhaps some other time I will tell you of his affair with Circe on the seventh floor. Or maybe you'd prefer the battle with the cyclops on the thirteenth. Suffice to say, the Postman vanquished all the enemies and came at last to the princess's door.

He knocked. After all, the letter was sent recorded delivery.
I'll have to get a signature on this.
Why yes of course.
She opened the door a crack.
She looked up into the postman's dark eyes and suddenly her knees went weak. She could read the bad news there but something else as well.

She released the chain and opened the door wide. Accepting the eviction notice with a joyful grace. Evicted at last from the prison where the princess had stayed for years. She hugged the postman and gushed, hot tears on the front of his tunic almost dissolving the fabric.

"Oh Prince" she beamed through tears of joy. "I have waited so long to be released from my prison and now You come along and free me with the power of your Eviction Notice. I love you oh Prince. I beg you to take me away from here".

Now, in actual fact, the postman's sexuality was dubious to say the least but he had a penchant for very thin women. He was delighted too to hear how easily she bruised. He resolved to keep a pea under her bed at every opportunity.

The Postman kissed the princess hard on the lips. Well. Sure little lady but I hope you don't mind if I quit the post office. It's far too dangerous. I think I'll be a mercenary instead.
So... the postman took the princess away to his castle in Angola and there was sex and love, and a long and deeply committed relationship and everybody was happy.... ... and they lived happily ever after (or at least until the postman took a sniper's bullet during the troubles in Chad.